A Kind of Heaven

I meditate on the quiet elegance of the cool breeze on this rainy day

while I drink spicy ginger tea.

I listen to the cacophonous symphony of raindrops

whose lineage stems back to the omnipresent sky

and the vast, eternal sea from which I was also born.

Across the street are empty lots, now inhabited by trees

that seem to reach for nourishment.

With a guttural demand, Zeus sends down the rain

and soon the street is a river,

my car an empty boat,

my roof an unrelenting waterfall

and my porch a small shore.

I remove my glasses that are at best redundant,

and descend the cement steps.

My blurry vision reminds me of a soft focus photograph,

immortalized and forever slightly out of focus.

But I can still see lightning strike

as my grandma speeds by in her blue car, honking the horn.

I jump into a large puddle

just because.

The earthy, metallic smell, petrichor, proves intoxicating as eager mud

wedges itself between my toes, adapting and changing form.

Rain falls into my eyes like

tenacious raindrops on a windshield

covered in permanent smudge marks.

The large, haunting trees across the street

remind me of the trees that surrounded our apartment in Georgia.

Tall, imposing things shaped like humans, the size of giants,

that would inspire fear and awe if they were

to rub the sleep from their eyes

and notice you.

I sometimes stare at those trees

and imagine what unknown creatures,

disgruntled by my exploration, would come crawling out.

I won’t take any chances today.

Instead I spin like a dervish.

Sort of.

Unsuccessfully, I admit.

But I’m sure Mother Nature will forgive

my clumsy attempt to impersonate Turkish monks.

Suddenly, I notice the faint smell of garlic bread as it passes through

the lousy screen of our front door.

Despite my ecstasy, mom’s spaghetti is becoming an increasingly

more tempting endeavor and now the thunder of Zeus

resides in my empty stomach.

I pray the rain continues throughout the night as I ascend the cement steps.

I put on my glasses, sight returned, and say a silent prayer:

When my candle burns out, my final goodbye a wisp of smoke,

grant me a sanctuary that exceeds the dreams of every solitary pluviophile.

Give me a library, vast and infinite.

Rainy days, surrounded by warm blankets and kitchen shelves filled

with every flavor of tea you can find.

Surround me with friends who will hold me close everyday

and an ocean of mermaids who will teach me every song they know.

And, oh yeah! Mom’s spaghetti, too!

Give me this, and I promise that when I have learned my final lesson

on this three-dimensional plane,

and you extend your hand to me in the coming dawn,

I will go willingly.

 

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The Voice Of God is Not Always The Thunder of Zeus

Standing in the breezeway

trying to avoid getting wet

as the rain hits the pavement

with playful abandon

uncaring of its inevitable destiny

of rejoining the collective.

My nocturnal struggle with anxiety

has a hold on me that predicts future victory…

until I step out into the rain.

I make a dash for the back door

but the closer I get, the harder it rains

and I slip and slide in my sandals

like a horse in stilettos

surrounded by meddlesome children.

Eventually I let go

and accept the gentle reprieve from my nightly tango with sorrow

that I can only assume has been granted by God himself.

I laugh with an abandon that I thought had been lost to me

as each drop of rain weaves its way

into the fabric of my clothes.

“Are you happy now, anxious child of mine?”

“Yes, I am.”

I AM

Communication is a lot like drowning nowadays.

via Daily Prompt: Distant

Sitting in front of a future former friend,

watching her read several dire text messages

she feels she must read lest her life ends before the setting sun,

suddenly less depressed, less stressed after dumping her troubles

in your lap that equals the weight of the emotional baggage you already carry.

Stuck in that strange limbo of patience and nakedness,

waiting for the moment she looks up to acknowledges you exist,

but feeling isolated when she says, “it won’t take long”

before returning to a conversation she seems exponentially more interested in.

Anxiety grabs hold and you wonder if she even wants to be there with you,

or if she is making plans to spend time with them and how long it will take

after her phone call before she creates some transparent excuse to go.

Leave.

Your intuition magnifies the fear as she finally hangs up and you can

already see the epilogue in her eyes that carry that translucent excuse

you know too well and have heard too many times before.

You sit there, feeling the way you always feel after these one-sided exchanges.

Used. Raw. Exposed.

Like some carcass split open by the front end of a Toyota truck

and left to lay open and bleeding in the Texas heat.

I had as much to say

I had as much to cry, scream, complain and rant about.

In that moment I needed you too.

But the annoying chime on your phone seems to cast some technological spell

that keeps you enamored and unaware that your so-called friend is drowning

in  sorrow that an open ear could assuage.

If only for a while.

 

 

 

 

First blog post

Hello everyone!!

I decided to start a blog for one simple reason: It seemed like the answer that was always right under my nose. I have always been a reserved and introspective person so I guess it goes without saying that I spend a lot of time in my head lol. I recently had a discussion with a close friend who thought it would be a good idea to start a blog and it just clicked. I can do the one thing I love more than anything, which is writing, and I now have a platform to do it. I’ve always admired those who were brave enough to send send their thoughts and creative projects out into the world despite any potential scrutiny or judgement. I think I’m ready to do the same. I look forward to seeing and reading the work of others as much as I am to creating my own.